


Pain

by Occula



Category: U2
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occula/pseuds/Occula
Summary: This isn't the first time they've had this argument.





	Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ July 20, 2003.

You tap twice on the door and then walk in, ready with whatever your errand had been. But after you’ve taken a step or two and you really _see_ him, you stop in your tracks.

_Fuck. You stop looking in the mirror and pull on a shirt as hastily as you can, but you know it’s wasted effort. He’s seen._

You are stricken. That beautiful body, hurt. You are filled with an uncharacteristic desire to do violence to whomever has done this violence to _him_. You speak shakily through this sickening rage, not entirely certain what you’re saying. “Shit, are you all right?”

_Hoping he didn’t see you grimace, you pick up your water and drink before answering. “I’m fine. It’s not as bad as it looks.” This is a lie. It’s worse than it looks, and it looks pretty bad. But you want this over with as soon as possible._

“You went to hospital, right? And the police? Were you robbed?” Jesus, you think, how did he even _play_ tonight, how did he carry a bass on his shoulder for hours?

_What would be worse than if Edge were making all the correct assumptions? Right. This. Having to explain. “I didn’t see a doctor. It’s only some bruises. And I didn’t go to the police. I wasn’t mugged … it wasn’t a crime; it was a date.”_

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can barely hear it, truth be told. You can’t get the images away from the front of your awareness. Somebody has beaten him, beaten him fairly badly, and it’s as though you feel the blows yourself. “Your date attacked you? My God. Adam, you have to report it. And … fuck, you could have broken ribs or something. You look terrible.”

_Chuckle, and make it heartlessly posh. “No, no. What happened … was what I wanted to happen, what we’d agreed would happen. It just got out of hand.” Watch his face change, even as it wrenches your heart._

Understanding reaches you at last, and it’s a burden you wish you could reject. As is the blush you feel heating your face. “Adam … I …” You have to pause for a second. “More dates like this and you could be in traction. For God’s sake … can’t you …”

_At least you can ease this concern. “As a matter of fact, this wasn’t exactly what we’d agreed … let’s just say that a prearranged boundary was crossed, and the signal to stop was ignored … I won’t be seeing him again. It’s all right.” Spare him this, that you don’t know what scared you more, the knowledge that you were helpless in every way and that he could have seriously injured you or even killed you, or that it was that knowledge that made you come so hard you thought you’d actually black out from the force of it, that it was so wrenching and powerful and awful that you shudder each time you think of it._

You’ve turned away from him to brace yourself with both hands on his dressing table. You don’t look at him in the mirror. Your voice sounds rough. “Adam, you know I’d never hurt you,” you manage, bleakly. “I’d never fucking hurt you.”

_Christ, you want him, but what would the point be? Light up, snap your lighter shut as you remain composed. “I know,” you say, trying again for that heartlessly flip tone. “I know you wouldn’t. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” You see his shoulders sag a little, then straighten again as he absorbs the blow. How you admire him._

You find the strength to turn, to meet that sardonic gaze. “I can’t understand. I can’t understand why you’d rather …” Now you’re gripping the back of the chair so hard your hand begins to burn. “I only want to treat you as I believe you deserve to be treated. I only want to show you what you’re worth to me.”

_It takes all your strength to keep from going to him. He wants to comfort you, you want to comfort him. Well, you’ll both have to end the day comfortless, won’t you? You continue to strive to sound blasé about the whole thing. “That’s not what I want,” you say. “That’s not what I need.”_

“Maybe you wouldn’t need the violence if you were with someone who loves you.”

_Your eyes are hot from sudden tears that you refuse to release. You carefully keep them out of your voice as well. “You have the wrong idea about it,” you say, not entirely truthfully. “It’s not that I want to be punished and degraded because I think it’s what I deserve. It’s simply that that’s what it takes to get me off. It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s that we’re fundamentally sexually incompatible. What I need, what I like — what I am — it disgusts you. I know it.”_

You’re so highly wrought at this moment you don’t know whether you’re livid or heartbroken. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” you demand, and your voice is shaking. “I’ve knowledge of hundreds of occasions on which you’ve gotten off without being beaten half to death.”

_“If it’s not rough, it’s just a reflex,” you try to explain, suddenly weary. “I’m not fully engaged, not with my … whole spirit. I don’t want you under those circumstances. I don’t want you halfway. Do you think you could give me what I need?” You watch his face carefully. “Can you bite my shoulder hard enough to draw blood?” He doesn’t bother to reply. “Or is it too crass, too disgusting, too —"_

Fuck this whole conversation. You lift your head and meet his eyes with what you hope are some shreds of your remaining dignity. “You’re a coward,” you say. “You’re afraid to even try.”

_You feel you’ve been struck, but it’s the kind of slap that causes you to muster your nobility. Your voice is icier even than you’d intended. “Fuck you, Edge,” you say evenly. “Refusing you is the only courageous thing I’ve ever done.”_

You don’t indulge yourself in a door slam, but you do stand on the other side of the door for some time, fingertips pressed against your eyelids.


End file.
